


heart's not yours

by gendryw4ters



Series: tumblr drabbles and prompts and things and such [2]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Songfic, a repost of an old tumblr drabble of mine, its kinda sappy but i was feeling it at the time, kind of ?? i think this is what a songfic is maybe, nixon-centric, reflecting on past self
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 10:10:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10965108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gendryw4ters/pseuds/gendryw4ters
Summary: Love. Love had always let him down.And yet there was still a part of him that just couldn’t resist it, that yearned to feel- to be felt





	heart's not yours

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [this](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/292005) by Noah and The Whale. 



> no disrespect intended! unbetad as always x

> I will only let you down.  
>  I will only let you down.  
>  But my door is always open.

Lewis Nixon _knows_ he’s not going to be right for her- or that she’s going to be right for him, for that matter. No girl ever has been. There’d been a boy, once, who’d come close, though he doesn’t like to dwell on that too much- knows his parents would throw an absolute fit if they ever even so much as got wind of it. He invites her over anyways, thinks maybe it’s time to finally try and settle down. Maybe then his parents would leave him alone.

> Well I don’t think, that I ever loved you.  
>  But the world is dying to meet you.

They want to meet her, of course they do. The miracle woman, the only one on earth who could ever tame their wayward son, his  _fiancee._ He hadn’t wanted to propose, not really- but he just couldn’t take it anymore. The stares, the whispers; pointing at the lack of rings on their fingers. He could learn to love her, couldn’t he? They could make this work.

> Oh well church bells, they are ringing for you.  
>  Oh and choirs are singing in red,  
>  Oh your voice could summon the angels,  
>  And your beauty, could waken the dead.

And to be fair, she _did_ look beautiful. Nixon had to give her that. He can’t help feeling like the white dress is a little tacky, though- especially since now he’s pretty sure it doesn’t mean shit to either of them. He’s overheard enough hushed conversations in dingy bar bathrooms to suggest as much, at least. Still, it’s a lavish affair ( _of course it is_ , Nixon bites his tongue to keep from hissing at the bartender who tells him so), his parents wanting nothing more than to show off to their acquaintances. He’s not even sure he knows half of the people there.

> But now I’m free,  
>  Now I’m free,  
>  Now I’m free from all your pain.

Now, the divorce _had_ hurt him, though not for the conventional reasons one might have thought it would. It hurt, Nixon realised, because now he really had to face up to what he’d done- to who he was as a person. Why the women in his life had never truly stuck around or worked out (and _no_ , it wasn’t because of the Vat 69). It was an unusual type of pain; the freeing kind. He imagines it’s a little like losing a gangrenous limb, and the thought makes him laugh- he’d had a fair few girlfriends who could’ve easily been compared to such. She didn’t have to take the dog, though. That had just been a kick in the teeth.

> Well you have only let me down.  
>  You have only let me down.  
>  But my door is always open,  
>  Yeah, my door is always open.

Love. Love had always let him down. And yet there was still a part of him that just couldn’t resist it, that yearned to feel- to be felt. To be felt, by strong callused hands that caressed his sides and his neck and enveloped his own. Dick’s hands, he realised one sunkissed afternoon in Zell am See. He wanted Dick’s hands on him. Dick, who in front of a crowd was all respectful and calm and well-brought-up, but who behind closed doors would smoke and drink and laugh just as much as the rest of them. Who always seemed to reserve his brightest smiles for Nixon, his driest jokes for Nixon. His kindest words for Nixon. 

His softest touches for Nixon.

> Yeah I love with my heart and I hold it in my hands,  
>  But you know, my heart’s not yours.

A few years had gone by since the war when his ex-wife finally wrote to him. Another chance, Lew. What went wrong? _What went wrong?_ He laughed as he dipped his pen in the ink-pot Dick had gotten him for his birthday not long ago. 

 _You thought I wasn’t capable of love,_ he had written, _but I am. My heart is full to bursting with it, in fact. But you know-_

He stopped for a moment, glancing across at the redhead who was lounging about on his sofa, thumbing through an old book written by a friend of theirs they’d met during the war.

- _My heart’s not yours._

**Author's Note:**

> im working my way through a few projects at the moment so im tryna get the ones ive completed all on here so i dont get myself mixed up, this was short and drabbly but i hope you liked it nonetheless!<3


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